Dreams of Music
by Allanna Stone
Summary: Christine, the abused niece of the Duke and Duchess of Agryz, runs away from her cruel home and ends up a princess.
1. Chapter 1

**Dreams of Music**

**I don't own anything.**

**SUMMERY;**

**Christine, the abused niece of the Duke and Duchess of Agryz, runs away from her cruel home and ends up a princess.**

Four year old Christine whimpered softly as the snowflakes fell gently onto her bleeding back. She wrapped herself tighter in the old cloak that she had grabbed when she escaped her harsh aunt's whip and screams of anger. The little girl began to cry as her tears froze on her cheeks. She trekked on, determined to put as much space between her home (if it could even be called that) and her soon to be cold body.

Suddenly, the little girl slipped and fell down a somewhat steep incline that overlooked a road. Christine fell on her side and curled herself up into a ball before beginning to pray that death would come and take her to her father in Heaven.

Soon, Christine could hear the sounds of horses and knew that a horse drawn carriage would be rounding the bend within moments. Then, the scream of two horses' whinnies rang throughout the cold morning, and Christine whimpered as a hoof stamped a mere few inches from where her head was resting. She heard someone cursing loudly and getting out of the carriage to see what it was that spooked the horses. She was aware of shouting and someone picking her up and placing her onto a soft bed of velvets and furs and covering her with a wool blanket. She was also aware of someone hugging her close to her body as a lovely voice hummed a lullaby. Christine soon drifted off into dreamland, wondering if this was Heaven.

_**I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but I'm on a roll here!**_

_**Read and review, as usual!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Dreams of Music**

**I don't own anything.**

**SUMMERY;**

**Christine, the abused niece of the Duke and Duchess of Agryz, runs away from her cruel home and ends up a princess.**

Christine woke slowly, not wanting to rid herself of the wondrous dream that she was having. She was in a bed- an actual bed!- and in a nightgown that wasn't scratchy and chafed at her skin. She could dimly hear a woman humming a soft tune as her brain woke up.

As Christine opened her eyes, she realized that she wasn't dreaming. She sat up slowly and looked about her with wide eyes of shock and surprise.

She was in an elegant bedroom that was decorated in blues and gold; a four poster bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and an amour all decorated the room, along with a wall that had nothing but bookshelves and a set of French doors that were shut. There was also a fireplace with a comfy looking armchair in front of it. And in the armchair was the most beautiful woman Christine had ever seen in her short life.

She was petite, with long black hair that was pinned up into a messy updo, big eyes that were a pretty shade of blue-green, and a full rosebud shaped mouth that was pursed into a half smile as she read the thick leather bound book that was in her lap. Christine sat up a bit more and saw that she was wearing a deep purple gown with lack embroidery on the yolk and sleeves. As she turned the page, she noticed that Christine was awake and shut the book before rising.

"It's nice to see that you're awake at last, little one," she smiled gently, crossing the room to sit on the bed next to Christine. She reached out to feel the child's forehead for a fever, and Christine found herself leaning into her hand more. The woman smiled at Christine before taking her hand away. "You have been running a high fever for the past night."

Christine just sat there, gazing at the beautiful woman before speaking.

"Are you an angel?" she asked boldly, sitting up more to look at her surroundings more.

"No, my dear child, I'm not an angel," she chuckled, playing with a silver locket that hung on a chain around her neck. "I'm just a mere mortal."

Christine bit her lip before looking down at her hands, heavily callused and scarred from the past year of abuse from her aunt, uncle and cousin. She whimpered as she realized that someone had bandaged up her wounds.

The woman reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. Christine looked up and smiled as she saw the look of concern and fury in the woman's eyes.

"No one will ever hurt you again, my dear child," she murmured softly as a knock sounded at the door. "Enter!" she called out regally and in entered a woman with a young girl about Christine's age.

"You're Imperialness," greeted the woman, dipping into a low curtsy, motioning for the little girl to do as her mother was doing. She bobbled slightly, earning her an incredulous look from the woman.

"Can I help you, Anna?" asked the woman in the purple gown, positioning herself.

"I was sent to tell you that I found some of Meg's old dresses. They should fit this little poppet until the seamstress has measured and fitted her for new clothes," announced Anna with an air of respect flowing around her.

"Thank you, Anna," smiled the woman before Meg darted past her mother and scramled up onto the bed, clutching at her doll tightly.

Christine and Meg looked at each other for a moment before Meg smiled. Christine returned the smile, and that was the ice breaker.

Anna smiled as she saw her only child making a friend, even if it were with the Empress of Russia's little pet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dreams of Music**

**I don't own anything.**

**SUMMARY;**

**Christine, the abused niece of the Duke and Duchess of Agryz, runs away from her cruel home and ends up a princess.**

That evening, Christabella was feeding Christine light soup and fluffy bread. As the empress spoon fed the tired child, she felt surges of rage occasional surges of rage pulsed through her body. Whoever had abused this little angel would be in deep trouble, for the empress had passed a law three years earlier, saying that child abuse would be punishable under her rule.

"Is there anything you want, my dear?" Christabella asked Christine softly as she wiped a trickle of soup from the corner of the four year old's mouth.

"A doll," whispered Christine softly. "I've never had a doll."

Christabella had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Who would be so cruel as to deny this little angel such a small thing?

"Anna," called out the empress and in entered little Meg, dressed in her nightgown with a dressing robe tossed over it.

"Mama is busy in the kitchen, my lady," she announced. "How might I assist you?"

"Tell Nikolas Tchaikovsky that Christine and I shall meet with him tomorrow, in the front drawing room," announced Christabella, smiling down at Christine, who was sound asleep.

~xoXox~

The following morning, Christine was dressed by Madame Anna Giry. She wore a pale blue dress with white stockings, a white bow in her hair and a white pinafore over the poufy skirts of her dress. On her feet, she wore black silk slippers that pinched at her feet but Madame Giry told her that she needed to get used to wearing shoes.

Christabella entered Christine's room a few minutes later, smiling when she saw her charge looking like a little angel. Christine ran up to the empress and silently demanded to be picked up and carried. Christabella complied with a little chuckle as she swept into the long stretch of hallways and went down several flights of stairs, leaving Christine feeling disoriented.

Christabella entered a big drawing room with a grand piano in a corner, a fireplace roaring with flames and heavy velvet curtains that were that were open to allow the dim winter sunlight into the room.

Christine saw an older man with snow white hair and a wrinkled face stand up from a chair next to the fireplace and bow to Christabella. After introductions were made, Christine tottered over to the man and was interested in his pocket watch.

"How might I assist the empress today?" he asked kindly.

"Christine wants a doll," was all that the empress said. "Christine, this gentleman will make you a doll, any doll you want, alright now?" she placed her young charge down onto the floor and retreating to a chair that was next to a bookshelf.

"Oh? A doll?" asked the man.

"I've never had one before," admitted Christine shamefully, bowing her head.

"Do you want a doll to snuggle with?" he began to ask her questions about the construction of the doll, and he was amazed at how simple she wanted the doll to be. After Christine had finished her consultation with the craftsman, she wandered over to the piano, where she began to play an off key song quietly.

"What does she want?" Christabella asked Nikolas as he sketched out a few ideas. He handed her a drawing and she looked at it with sadness. It was s simple doll, made of straw and cloth, like what the farmer's children had.

"This will not do!" she hissed. "Make her a doll with a cloth body, and a fashionable wardrobe!"

"Porcelain head, arms and legs, and a wardrobe that will put your imperialness to shame," he muttered, beginning to start on a new sketch.

"Perfect," the empress approved of his drawings. "How soon can the doll be made?"

"One week," Nikolas beamed, happy that he had gotten her seal of approval.

~xoXox~

A week later, Nikolas had requested that the empress and her apprentice (as everyone was fondly calling Christine) to meet him in the royal throne room.

Christine was interested in the large trunk that Nikolas had with him. With a low bow, he opened it up and took out a beautiful doll that was made especially for the young child.

The doll was eighteen inches tall, with dark red curls and emerald green eyes. She was dressed in a simple, yet elegant pink dress with embroidery on the yolk and sleeves black boots and stockings, and jewelry that glittered.

Christine fell in love with the doll and she cradled it in her arms before hugging the craftsman. Nikolas chuckled as he hugged her back.

"I'm to take it that you enjoy your doll?" he chuckled as Christine began to pull things out of her doll's trunk.

"Thank you!" chirped the young child happily before beginning to explore the vast collection of outfits right there in the middle of the throne room.


End file.
